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'Our Dinner With Jean Béliveau'

Author of the article:

Jim Baine • Special to Montreal Gazette

Publishing date:

December 12, 2014 • 4 minute read

Left to right: Élise Béliveau, Norah Convery, Jim Baine, Jean Béliveau and Dick Baine on the steps at Chez La Mère Michel restaurant on Guy St. in Montreal during the spring of 1984. Dick Baine, a huge Jean Béliveau fan living in Toronto, wrote a letter to the Hall of Famer asking if he would join his family for dinner when he was in Montreal and Béliveau and his wife accepted.Jim Baine

'Our Dinner With Jean Béliveau'Back to video

You see, Béliveau meant the world to my dad, who had followed his career since the Quebec Aces and kept a scrapbook of his many, many accomplishments over the years.

In March of 1984, I was working as a young copy editor on the Entertainment desk at the Montreal Gazette, and my dad was making arrangements to come to Montreal from Toronto for a visit. He casually mentioned on the phone one day that I should use my “connections” at the newspaper to set up a meeting with the Canadiens great. I tried to break it to him gently that I was a relative nobody at newspaper and that Béliveau probably didn’t go out with his fans on a regular basis.

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But that didn’t stop Dad.

He fired off a letter to Béliveau — I think it was mailed simply to “Jean Béliveau, Montreal Forum, Montreal, Que.” — and I promptly forgot about the whole thing.

But Dad and Jean Béliveau didn’t.

A couple of weeks later, Dad called again and said he had just got off the phone with Béliveau’s secretary, who told him Mr. Béliveau would be delighted to have dinner with us.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Why would a Montreal legend, who still had a busy career as an executive with the Canadiens, take time out of his schedule to meet with a few fans? Why would he make the effort, with nothing, apparently, for him to gain from it?

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The answer became clear on a warm spring evening downtown, shortly after we arrived for the event forever known now as “Our Dinner With Jean Béliveau.”

The letter Dad wrote was, I have to admit, touching. It recalled the time Dad took me to Maple Leaf Gardens when I was 7, when we stood outside the Canadiens’ dressing room (yes, you could do that back then) hoping to catch a glimpse of our hero. Thanks to the efforts of a Gardens official whose name I can’t remember, we did a lot better than that. The official somehow got us into the dressing room, we waited for Béliveau to get dressed, and then we walked along Carlton St. with him to the subway, where Béliveau caught the southbound train to the Royal York Hotel (yes, players took public transit in those days).

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The whole time I was wide-eyed and full of questions for the Habs’ captain. At that age, thanks to some brainwashing from my dad, I could reel off just about any statistic pertaining to Le Gros Bill.

Béliveau was more than gracious, putting up with my incessant chatter, and when we parted at the subway station he ruffled my hair and bid us adieu.

Twenty years later, when we met again at Chez La Mère Michel, he topped himself.

Dad’s letter had ended by easily letting Béliveau off the hook for the dinner invitation.

Dad wrote: “We are aware, Jean, that this sort of thing puts you on the spot and that you must get very tired of being a celebrity. You do bring back many wonderful memories, however, and we would like very much to honour you in some modest way. Please be assured that if, for one reason or another you cannot accept, we will understand completely.”

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Béliveau had none of that.

When we arrived at the restaurant, we weren’t sure what to expect. But Béliveau and his wife immediately put everyone at ease, and the evening was a smashing success. Élise even offered my sister, who was visiting from Vancouver, a bed at their home if there were any problems with her flight back west.

Béliveau himself was everything you could imagine from a man who made so many contributions to the game of hockey and was an ambassador to Montreal for decades.

He was attentive, intelligent, generous with anecdotes from his time as a player, and epitomized the word “class.” When we left the restaurant he graciously allowed us a picture on the outside steps, enthusiastically snapped by our waiter (I think he was in awe of the proceedings as well).

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But the question remained: So why, Jean, did you agree to this get-together in the first place?

I’ll remember his answer for the rest of my life.

Béliveau spoke warmly about the appreciation he had for his fans, and said that this dinner was one way of paying back at least a small group of them.

Since that time, Béliveau and my dad had carried on like pen pals, with Dad sending him birthday and Christmas cards for many years, and Béliveau sending Dad a regulation Habs jersey with No. 4 on the back when Dad retired in the late 1980s.

When I called Dad, now 88, on the morning of Dec. 3 — the day after Béliveau’s death — to share the news, he was “heartbroken.”

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